Chapter 2: The First Stab of Guilt
~RR~
Bucky pushed his mashed potatoes around his flowered porcelain plate, letting it tumble over the sliced ham and vegetables forlornly. He had found a peaceful moment alone on the front steps of the quaint funeral home that Steve's wake was being held. Unfortunately, moments of quiet never lasted too long these days, and Sam was soon making his way down the steps to him.
"There you are," Sam huffed as he made himself comfortable beside him. He was already halfway finished with his food, enjoying his vegetables in a carefree way. "Just got off the phone with Bruce, he's knee-deep in some secret science stuff but sends his best."
Bucky remained despondent, seizing the silence while he still could.
"Look man, I get that you're sad," Sam went on. "I'm sad too. But he was growing weaker for a long time, and now he finally gets to rest. He had a great life, a real great life. I mean, he had us, am I right? Great life."
Bucky put his fork down to take a bite out of a bread roll. Still, he didn't respond. Sam would never truly understand, never truly know the depth of loss that Bucky was experiencing. Sam didn't save that scrawny soldier's soul from bullies in the alley on the way home from school where they had first met. He didn't know Steve's mother, or what her cooking smelled like on holidays. Didn't see Steve struggle with English essays, or what atrocious suit he had worn to his first dance, or shake hands knowingly with his first crush. He didn't see this man fight Nazi's tooth and nail to save him from remaining in the wrong hands. He didn't get frozen in ice and wake up in the wrong decade, only to find your best friend was still fighting loyally to remain your friend after all those years, even when everyone else thought your mind was lost. How could he ever fathom the type of friend that was?
Still, given the chance, something told Bucky that Sam would've been that type of friend to Steve too. It was just not a fate that had been his. Thank God for that, really.
"Real handsome family he has in there, huh?" Sam tried again. "Strong genes. Is it weird that I'm kind of into Sarah?"
Bucky looked at Sam with a frown. Oh, yeah, and then there was that matter too. How could he even begin to process that?
"Yes, it is weird," Bucky shot out curtly, with strong meaning behind it.
Sam chewed for a moment, thoughtfully.
"Yeah, you're probably right," he agreed half-heartedly.
~RR~
As Bucky set the plate beside a sink with others of its own kind, he observed the young Sarah talking to a relative. She had a smile on the edges of her lips, dimples in warm, rosy cheeks. She wore a modest navy dress that was still kind to her shape. Everything in her screamed warmth, sweetness, familiarity. She truly was beautiful, in more ways than Bucky could begin to comprehend. Normally, he would have found an excuse to leave by now, but he found himself wanting to stay. He couldn't get over how familiar she felt…
Though, he felt out of place just standing around staring, so he grabbed a sponge and began to scrub at his dirty plate.
Moments later, a hand reached out for his, freezing him in his tracks.
"Please, don't," Sarah begged. "You really don't have to do that."
She took a moment to gawk at her hand on his metal one, allowing her fingers trace the lines of metal, but eventually taking the sponge from it.
"Besides," she giggled. "Won't you rust or something?"
Bucky heard himself snicker. He had chuckled at Steve's wake. Something he never would have dreamed.
"It's a special metal," he explained. "Doesn't rust."
"Well, you're an honored guest," she stated firmly. "And according to Grandma, guests don't do dishes."
Bucky suddenly didn't know what to do with his arms, awkwardly throwing them into his pockets instead of having them hang around, useless. She looked at him as looking right through him, and he felt uncomfortable under her attention. A glance up at her told him that she wasn't uncomfortable at all, gazing up at him without relent.
"So, you and Grandpa Steve go way back, huh?"
"Yeah…" Bucky fought an amused grin. "Way back."
"Seems a shame he didn't invite you to more family functions."
"We... I..." Bucky stumbled over words. "It's complicated."
She laughed, a good hearty laugh.
"Wow," she shook her head. "That's exactly what he used to say."
Her eyes narrowed, and she leaned closer to his face as if to tell a secret. He stopped breathing.
"If you have a few minutes, I'd love to pick your brain on a few things…"
Bucky was immediately more uncomfortable than before.
"I should really be getting going."
"Please," she pleaded, her hand reaching for him again. "I'd love to know someone who meant so much to him."
Bucky's constitution crumbled under her hopeful look. After a moment of searching her expression, he sighed and caved.
"Do you have something to write with?"
~RR~
After the wake, Bucky realized the S.H.E.I.L.D. compound was the last place he wanted to return to. Luckily, Sam had once offered to let him stay in his extra room, and Bucky finally decided to take him up on the invitation.
Sam hurried through the front door in search of extra blankets for him. Sam was talking, but Bucky's mind was elsewhere, as he observed his strange new surroundings. He couldn't help but reach out and touch the TV, the large leather couch... he picked up the 'Beats' headphones from Sam's nearby desk, the leftover Starbucks coffee cup. They were things he had seen before, but still didn't quite understand. He felt like a stray... just so displaced in a world that didn't feel real yet, even after all these years.
As usual, it took him hours to finally drift off to sleep. He woke with the morning sun, and helped himself to a shower. He thought about Sarah as he stood completely still under the hot water. He thought of her hand on his metal one, how he ached to know what that would have felt like on his actual skin.
Suddenly, he felt his first stab of guilt over the matter. Would Steve have approved if he was alive? Bucky had never had a problem with the ladies back in their heyday... would Steve have insisted he should pursue someone else... anyone else? Somehow, that didn't sound like the Steve he had known. So, why the guilt?
Bucky turned the shower faucet off. He decided to put it as far away from his mind as he could. He had only spoken to her for mere moments anyhow. It was nothing.
He was just buttoning his pants closed when Sam walked into the room.
"Hey, man," he said with a serious tone. "You're gonna want to come into the living room."
Bucky was throwing a maroon shirt on over his head as he entered the common area. There was Nick Fury, sitting on an armchair before him. Bucky quietly helped himself to a seat next to Sam on the couch, and let Fury speak first.
"I wish I could say the world was quiet on a day like this," He said slowly, ominously, as only he could. "Unfortunately, the passing of the world's greatest heroes only encourages the bad guys to come out of the woodwork even more."
Sam and Bucky exchanged glances, sighed together. They knew what was coming next.
"Don't worry, I already paid my respects," Fury assured them with a firm nod. He handed Bucky a folder with a bold, red 'classified' stamped across the front. "I thought you might appreciate the distraction. Not to mention, this one directly concerns you."
Bucky opened the folder as Sam peeked over his shoulder.
"Sergei Kravinoff?" Sam read aloud. "Do you know him?"
"Bucky here, might know him as another name," Fury answered for him. "Kraven the Hunter. He was a soviet assassin who was given the same serum as the other Winter Soldiers."
"I thought Zemo killed all of you guys back when?" Sam asked in confusion.
"Kraven was never part of the program," Bucky replied. "He was discharged for being... unstable. From my understanding, he was declared deceased."
"So were you," Fury retorted.
Bucky digested the comment for a moment, seeing his point.
"So, you want us to find the guy?" Sam guessed.
"Actually, I came here to give you a head's up," Fury corrected, and turned his attention back to Bucky. "Word is, he's coming to find you."
"Why?" Bucky drew back.
"Apparently," Fury leaned forward in his chair. "He wants to be the only one left in this world with the Serum. So long as you're alive, he's not the best. If I were you, I would keep my eyes open. Wide open. One of his aliases bought a plane ticket to Washington D.C. twelve hours ago. I think he wants you to know he's coming for you."
Bucky looked at the floor.
"He was waiting for Steve's death," he surmised. "Why?"
"Perhaps there's a part of him that likes being celebrated for being- well, whatever he is. There might be people who would have hated him for killing the great Captain America, especially since he wasn't exactly a threat anymore. However, killing a war criminal... might be another story."
"Guess you should avoid well-populated public areas," Sam added.
~RR~
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-RedRogue
